


Curls and cotton blends

by holesinthesky



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Be Gentle With Me, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, I've never done this before, M/M, Yes probably crack, is fluff without plot a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holesinthesky/pseuds/holesinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Err, Sherlock. That’s my neck.”</p><p>There was a slight sucking sound as Sherlock detached himself. “Yes, John. I am aware.”</p><p>“And that’s your mouth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a thing! This is the first time I have written any fanfiction. It may also be the first time I have finished a work of fiction. Really it's a miracle it's even here, to be honest. And it wouldn't be without the encouragement of my beta, [elephantfootprints](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantfootprints/pseuds/elephantfootprints), and her invaluable insistence that I use the word 'cock'. I think she will find that the second use is pluralised, thankyouverymuch. I've redrafted since she last saw it, so any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> I will totally aim to write some plot next time. Probably.

John shuffled into 221b after a long and tedious day at the clinic. He toed off his shoes, hung up his coat and as he turned around was assaulted by six foot of terrifyingly curious looking detective. Assaulted in the eye-contact sense. Which John absently thought shouldn’t be a thing. But good God was it a thing at the moment.

Three things happened in quick succession: Sherlock’s hands hit John’s shoulders, his shoulders hit the wall and Sherlock’s mouth hit his neck.

“Err, Sherlock. That’s my neck.”

There was a slight sucking sound as Sherlock detached himself. “Yes, John. I am aware.”

“And that’s your mouth.”

Sherlock had to step away to make the most of his eye rolling. “Really John, if you’re going to spend this entire encounter stating clearly evident facts I’m not sure I’ll persevere.”

John took a moment to be shellshocked. “Persevere with what, exactly?” John asked, in a voice that was not squeaky. Not at all.

Sherlock eyed him pityingly. “John. I know you’re not the most observant of men, but really. This should be obvious.” He shot him another pained look before applying himself once more to the now slightly damp skin of John’s neck.

Life with Sherlock entailed a number of odd scenarios. Bits of people in the fridge he could cope with. There was an appropriate response to that. Of course, it was screaming indignation, but there was a response. Three-day-unwashed flatmates lying on sofas in the throes of paralysing ennui he could also cope with; clucking usually achieved nothing, but ignoring said flatmate could be very satisfying.

But neck sucking? And, yes, now, licking? In a more forewarned, non-Sherlockian context? Fine. But this was unprecedented. And actually kind of nice. And Sherlock, for pity’s sake. John was at a loss.

John’s rather unproductive crisis had allowed Sherlock time to move onto his collar bone. He was approaching undoing-buttons territory, not to mention curling into a rather undignified hunch in order to reach parts of John that were unco-operatively out of reach. John’s traitorous libido was already busy working out how to move this to a bed, and it took a moment for John to regain control of his impulses and push Sherlock off him. Delicately, of course. No sense adding upset to social awkwardness.

“Sherlock.” John tried to say. It came out as more of a wheeze. He tried again. “Sherlock. Humour me, please. What are you doing? In layman’s terms?”

The impression of self-possession was almost perfect; if it wasn’t for the slight aura of kicked puppy, John might almost think Sherlock knew what he was doing.

“I am seducing you.” Sherlock said defiantly. “Obviously.”

“Right. Ok. That’s… sweet? But I think we’d be better off talking about this first.”

Sherlock looked unsure. “Does seduction involve conversation? I was under the impression it was all rather more… physical.”

John tried a bit of physical contact of his own and touched a hand to Sherlock’s cheek. “It can be. But in this case, I don’t think we’re on the same page just now. Or even reading the same book. Bit of talking, just so we know where we are, yeah?”

Sherlock looked a little ruffled, but loosened his grip on John’s shoulders. “Fine. You’re right, best to have all the data.”

They disentangled and shuffled slightly awkwardly over to the sofa. John positioned himself facing Sherlock, one leg tucked underneath himself while Sherlock curled into his customary human pretzel.

“So. You’re seducing me?” John confirmed.

“Yes, John. Must we repeat ourselves?”

“Ok, fine, I just wanted to clarify. And why are you seducing me?” John was almost proud of the near infinite patience with which he now managed to treat Sherlock.

Sherlock fidgeted. He looked away. He looked back. His ears pinked. John almost pinched himself. Sherlock’s mouth opened. The mouth John was keenly aware had been on his neck a moment ago. It looked soft. It was soft, John remembered with a shiver of astonishment.

“I…” Sherlock trailed off, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and with what appeared to be a herculean effort, he forced out some more words. “You know you’re my only friend, John. Heaven knows you’re one of the few people worth my time.” Now he was in grievance mode he seemed to get into his stride, sounding more indignant the longer he spoke. “And you’re so… pleasant sometimes and you bring me things when I ask and you don’t move out in a fit of misplaced irritation and you keep smiling at me like I’m baffling but brilliant and you even ask good questions sometimes and you have this bit of hair at the nape of your neck that curls just slightly to the right _every single day_ and when you push past me in the kitchen I can feel how you’re warm underneath your cotton blend shirt and sometimes I just want to _touch you_ but I need to concentrate and it’s so sentimental and. You. Are. Infuriating like that John and I can’t keep up with this!” Sherlock almost shouted this last part, and he came out of the whole thing looking rather breathless.

Now it was John’s turn to ineffectually open and close his mouth. And Sherlock’s turn to look at John’s mouth. He watched it with a kind of offended longing.

“And this led you to pin me to the wall and suck on my neck?” John said.

“As I said, this isn’t my area. But... You walked in and you were all pink from the chill in the air and there was that _bit of hair on your neck_ , John. I wanted to put my mouth there. I understand its an acceptably erotic thing to do but I also knew that you would object to being so aggressively approached from behind. So we found ourselves in the situation to which you were just subjected.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that I might object to the entire idea of your mouth on my neck?”

“I... I hadn’t given it any real thought.” Wasn’t that just so Sherlock, of course he would micromanage the execution of an activity without even thinking about whether it was a good idea in the first place.

“Ok. Remind me later that we need to have a talk about consent. For now, though, you really can’t be touching people without asking like that. Especially not… like that.” said John.

“Like I would be touching anyone else.” Sherlock mumbled.

If he had the brain space to be thinking about it, John might have decided that was almost the sweetest thing Sherlock had ever said to him. Coming in just after all that stuff about curls and questions and cotton blend shirts. He shook himself. Focus, Watson.

“So let’s see if I can summarise. You find me attractive, and you want there to be touching.” said John.

“Yes. Touching. Ahm… yes.” Sherlock mumbled. And he was fidgeting which was absolutely adorable. Not that Sherlock would ever hear this from John.

John gave this a moment’s thought. “I can work with that.”

Sherlock perked up immediately, looking infinitely less frustrated. “Excellent! Does that mean we’re finished talking? Can we continue now? I had thought I’d try your mouth this time.” He leaned in, suddenly looking significantly more predatory.

Any objections John might have been planning were abruptly derailed by the presence of a Sherlockian knee on either side of his hips. Two large hands descended, bracketing his head and John looking up into pale, determined eyes.

The kiss, when it came, was such a little thing. A touch and a retreat. And again. Sherlock shifted in John’s lap, his forehead resting on John’s as he paused, looking unsure of his next move. John moved to grasp Sherlock’s hips, feeling warm skin through soft pyjama bottoms, and before he had time to change his mind he had closed the gap and made Sherlock’s decision for him. This kiss was slow, gentle, explorative. John’s eyes drifted closed. After a moment, John felt the shy touch of tongue inside his upper lip. Emboldened, he followed it back and was treated to the remarkable, dizzying sensation of Sherlock Holmes sucking on his tongue.

After what could have been anything from minutes to months, John pulled back with a gentle huff, nuzzling at Sherlock’s temple. “You’re kind of heavy,” he murmured.

Sherlock looked affronted and moved to leave. John couldn’t help but laugh “No! No, Sherlock, sorry. I just meant we should move a bit. My leg has gone to sleep.”

Sherlock looked kind of dazed, his lips wet and reddened and he looked so lovely that John had to nudge up for another kiss. Just as he did, though, Sherlock entangled him in sharp limbs and tipped them full length onto the sofa, John finding himself sprawled on top. John looked down and Sherlock looked so pleased with himself, hair and limbs akimbo, his face flushed and his mouth still open. Joy bubbled right out of John’s throat and he had to bury his face in Sherlock’s neck to have a giggle. While he was there he decided to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine and sucked a loud, smacking kiss into the skin of his throat.

Sherlock gave a shocked little inhale before he started to shake with his own laughter. As the giggling died down they started to shift against each other, looking for a configuration that would give them the minimum number of badly placed knees and elbows.

Once settled, John placed the flat of his hand over Sherlock’s heart and felt warm skin, soft cotton and a slightly fast heartbeat. He felt Sherlock’s fingers creep into his hair, skimming his scalp in lazy circles.

“This is pleasant.” said Sherlock

“Yeah.” John tucked his head into the curve of Sherlock’s neck, sucking little kisses into the skin he found there. Sherlock looked down into John’s face. John thought he might speak, but Sherlock just looked at him. Right at him. He wasn’t even pulling his ‘deduction’ face, he just looked vaguely assessing, affectionate. He bumped his nose gently into John’s, nudged at his cheek, moved his lips softly back and forth against John’s. It was wonderful to see Sherlock apparently acting on instinct, no longer ten steps ahead of the situation.

They kissed until they had cricks in their necks and John had to get up onto his slightly unstable legs to do something about dinner. He stared vacantly into the fridge, barely even acknowledging the gently dripping lungs on the top shelf. He could still taste Sherlock on his lips; how on earth was he expected to concentrate on food?

Twenty minutes later, takeaway had been ordered and the kettle had been put on. John was leaning against the worktop watching the kettle boil when he heard Sherlock picking his way across the kitchen. Sherlock took John carefully by the hips and applied his mouth to John’s nape.

“Honey in mine, please,” he murmured.

Sherlock was plastered warmly against John’s back and John ran a hand up the forearm curled around his stomach, absently stroking circles on his wrist. It was amazing how quickly this had come to feel normal. Sherlock shifted his weight slightly and John felt the soft bundle of Sherlock’s cock against his lower back. He suddenly realised how vulnerable Sherlock was like this. Sherlock hadn’t just risked his greatest, in fact his only, friendship, but he was also opening himself to sentimental vulnerabilities that he used to loudly eschew at all opportunities. It made John feel all gooey and happy. Like he might start coating Sherlock in sentimentalities until he gagged on the sweetness.

John turned around in Sherlock’s hold and slid his arms around his narrow waist, tucking his head under that aristocratic non-chin. It had been a while since he’d had a hug like this. He wondered if Sherlock had ever had a hug like this.


	2. Chapter 2

Half empty takeaway tubs littered the already crowded coffee table and John and Sherlock lay prostrate, groaning from too much Chinese food. John was on the brink of a food coma and Sherlock looked positively sleepy, draped as he was across most of the sofa and John’s lap. John nudged gently at the nearest leg.

“I need my bed, Sherlock. Do you, err. Do you want to come with me?”

Sherlock peeled one eye open and looked at him archly. “Are you propositioning me, Doctor Watson?”

John couldn’t suppress a laugh. “No. Not just now anyway. I’m so full I’m not even sure about getting up the stairs, let alone anything else. Is that something you… want to do, though?”

“Sex? Yes, I should think so. Hugging is nice,” he scowled slightly. “Though I really wish there were a better word for it.” John smiled to himself. John thought there might have been, but hearing Sherlock say ‘hugging’ was just a bit too good to induce him to think too hard about an alternative.

“And the kissing,” continued Sherlock. “was surprisingly pleasant. I can only imagine sex would be equally satisfying.” John chose to take this in the spirit of suppressed satisfaction with which it was probably intended.

“Well then, we can revisit that later, but I can definitely hug you. In bed. While we’re sleeping. Come on.”

Sherlock issued a great put-upon sigh and slid gracelessly off the sofa. He heaved himself to his feet and looked John in the eye. “Your bed or mine?” He smirked. Git.

“How sanitary is your room?” asked John.

“My room is spotless John, I am affronted at the suggestion it would be otherwise.”

“Of course it is, you never use it anyway. Fine, yours it is; it’ll be warmer than upstairs anyway. Just let me get some pyjamas.”

“Underwear will more than suffice. I’m entirely capable of keeping you warm.” That lascivious smirk should really have looked more out of place.

“God, how you can feel sexy with lo mein up to the gills is beyond me. Ok, boxers it is. Let’s just get horizontal,” yawned John.

John and Sherlock soon learned that sleeping positions with maximum touching had a 100% overlap with sleeping positions with maximum pressure on overstuffed bellies, so they eventually fell asleep face up on opposite sides of the bed. Just as he was dropping off though, John did think he felt Sherlock’s hand settle into his own.

John was entirely unsurprised to wake up to Sherlock huffing humid breaths against the back of his neck. Those spidery limbs were wrapped securely around him and there was a not so soft bundle resting unassumingly at his back. John smirked to himself. What a turn-up, eh? Maybe he should have seen this coming sooner. Maybe he should have pursued this himself. Maybe he should just stop thinking, roll over, and kiss Sherlock some more.

Gallantly ignoring both sets of morning breath, John set off on the noble endeavour of kissing Sherlock awake. It went rather well.

“Hrmm, is that an erection, John?” murmured Sherlock.

“Might be. It would,” John kissed him, “rather match yours wouldn’t it?” John hummed, leering comically at Sherlock and rolling his hips against his thigh.

Kissing became difficult to do through the giggling. Some wonderful concoction of nerves and all that skin had just made everything so delightfully funny. They somehow managed to kiss, giggle, stroke, giggle and wrestle each other out of their remaining clothing and John found himself with a very naked and wriggly Sherlock between his thighs.

Somewhere amongst the wriggling their cocks lined up. Sherlock rolled his hips just right and had to pull out of their kiss to huff in surprise against John’s mouth. He tried to repeat the move, missing slightly, but diving back onto John’s lips with even greater enthusiasm. The kisses became a bit sloppy and desperate as they arched against each other, grasping at shoulders and hips and buttocks in an aching chase, gasping embarrassing noises into each others mouths. Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck and shuddered into his orgasm, mouthing repetitively at the skin beneath his mouth and convulsively grasping at John’s arms.

Sherlock flopped against John’s side, boneless and smiling, his mouth red and his eyes sparkling. He looked so bleeding adorable John didn’t even know what to do with himself. Sherlock pushed up to kiss him, open and wet and dirty, while his hand drifted down to take hold of where John was still hard. A few steady pulls and John was coming all over his hand, panting into Sherlock’s open mouth.

They were sticky and overheated, giggling into their pillows. John pushed a hand into Sherlock’s hair and brought their noses together, nudging gently.

“I think that went well,” he said to the blurred Sherlock just centimetres away.

“Yes, I rather think so,” Sherlock rumbled in return, his baritone rolling over John’s skin and making something flutter in his chest.

“We should probably clean up a bit. Brush our teeth.” said John.

“In a minute, John. It’s comfortable here.” Sherlock pulled John closer and wedged a knee between John’s. They were going to stick to each other, not to mention the sheets, but John found it hard to care. He simply tucked his nose into Sherlock’s hair and fell back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I tumbl at theresholesinthesky.tumblr.com, where I mostly rec writing far better than my own and reblog snarky gifsets.


End file.
